


Sharp Dressed Man

by lady_brontide



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Mark Powell suits, Martin Freeman/OFC - Freeform, Shameless Smut, Smut, There's a plot I promise, Vaginal Fingering, be kind its my first fic on this site, blowjob, inspired by a tumblr photo set, kind of beta'd, seamstresses being naughty because i have nothing better to write about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_brontide/pseuds/lady_brontide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young seamstress messes up the measurements of a suit, Amelia takes on the project of outfitting their high profile client.<br/>For six different suits.  </p><p>*Look, I'm bad at summaries. Notes are at the end. It's been proofread, but I apologize for anything my beta reader and I  missed.<br/>Also I clearly know nothing about tailoring suits so please by nice. It was just an idea that I tried to flush out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Sports Coats are Classic and Dangerous

He’d come in for a fitting a few weeks ago when she hadn’t been on shift.

In retrospect, if she had been on shift that time, he wouldn’t be here now, eyeing Amelia in the mirror as she retook his measurements. Pamela might have graduated with a degree in fashion design from NYU, but it’s nothing if you can’t take measurements correctly.

“We have a high profile coming in tomorrow at nine. Can you take it?” The manager had presented the job without preface to Amelia because she was a professional, able to take measurements without batting an eyelash. It seemed ridiculous, even to her, sometimes, how important clothing could be, how important the fit could be.

“Sure. Kind of early?” She says it to be conversational. Pamela has been hoarding her regulars, claiming to get to know the store’s common customers. Amelia wasn’t surprised she didn’t have any special projects.

“Anyway,” he said and waved her comment away with his coffee mug. “Actor. Gentleman. Your charge didn’t take his measurements right and the suit fit incorrectly at his last fitting, and it was genuinely embarrassing. Please don’t screw up?”

“I don’t screw up, I’m a consummate professional,” she replied tartly.

Amelia certainly didn’t feel like a consummate professional as she kneeled down to measure his inseam. His fingers twitched out of the corner of her eye and she took a deep breath. Honestly, it wouldn’t have been a problem if he was regular stuffy customer. But this man screamed lazy sophistication, and it was taking all her willpower not to say, _Yes, sir I’m available any time_. Consummate professional. Consummate professional. Consummate pro-

“I haven’t seen you in before. I’m Martin, by the way.” His voice is soft as his face, and it makes her wonder what it sounds like when used for soft commands in quiet rooms. “It’s just that another girl took my measurements last time.”

She risked glancing up from her knees to meet his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement. “It’s nice to meet you, Martin. Pamela took your measurements last time, but she’s fairly new and hasn’t quite gotten the right touch for it yet.” Her hand pulled the pant-leg tight at the back, using an old trick in order to see what fit will be best. He stifles a groan. “Sorry,” she mumbled and released the material.

“No, it’s alright. So you’re not new then?” He’s making easy conversation and Amelia’s wondering if someone is waiting for him outside the curtained fitting room.

“No, I’ve been here for four years. I just wasn’t scheduled when your appointment took place. Otherwise I would have had your suit done by now.” She shuffled around on her knees until she could properly measure the second leg. He’s laughing at her scooting. “A very nice choice, by the way. Classic.”

“Thank you. I thought I’d stick with something a bit ordinary, this time ‘round. Just to try it out.” He’s silent then glances down at her again. “This is a career for you then? Not some stepping stone to working on movie sets or bigger companies?” He sounds genuinely interested and it’s intriguing.

“I’m a professional seamstress. I have no reason to move on when my work is here. And besides, I like staying grounded and not moving all the time. A career in the film industry would require that.” She slid her hand up inside his leg to measure and is thrilled when he clears his throat as she nears his crotch. It’s standard procedure, so she’s wondering what’s got him so flustered. “Does a tailor usually fit your suits?”

He blushes a little and its gorgeous. “Yes. Am I that obvious?” He smiles and it’s so bright you stand and move to his back to measure the shoulders in the classic black jacket. “A little,” she admits and her eyes sparkle over his shoulder. “What’s your name by the way? I should know if you’re going to be touching inside my leg.”

That makes her laugh outright. “Amelia,” she manages between giggles.

“Amelia.” His voice drops an octave lower and the way he says it has her taking a deep calming breath. Then realization hits. This man. This man is attracted to her and it’s a wonderful feeling. She knew he’d been eyeing her since he walked in and it had put a little swing in her hips. When she’d been introduced and her boss had been profusely apologizing for their star student, his eyes had flickered to Amy. Interested eyes that had made their way up and down her plain-jane dressed body before settling less interested on her boss. She’d shuddered in her heels.

Now they perused her face as she rounded in front of him to measure his waist. “Arms up please.” He lifted them minimally, just enough for her to step closer and feel his breath for a moment.

“Anything else you’d like up?” he said it teasingly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. And if it weren’t for his hands tentatively brushing her hips, she would have thought he was only teasing. She gapes for a moment then drops her gaze to the tape and pretends the numbers mean something.

“Mr. Freeman, I am a professional,” she replied seriously and quickly wrote down what the measuring tape said. She had an inkling there would be no more use for it in a few moments.

“Yes, a professional who’s nearly had me hard for an hour.” Those hands settled on her hips eventually, heavy but not overbearing and then finality hits when she realizes where this has been going all along. “So what do you say, Amelia? Going to let me touch you or shall I come in the pants you’re going to let in?” Crass offers deserve crass replies and she knows she should walk away now. But it had been years and it was difficult watching her successor light new fires in her old clients’ eyes. She looked into his eyes, hopeful. She hadn’t been touched in ages.

He was wearing a smirk as dark as his suit coat. “Yes.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Yes what?”

“Yes, I’m going to let you touch me.”

Amelia wasn’t sure how but somehow her tape was on the floor, her back was against a wall, and Martin’s clad leg was between her knees, pushing her legs open for his exploration. A gentle hand cradled the back of her head from the wall. Her wariness returned in full force. Dalliances with customers were a no-no. But it had been so long…

Martin brushed his lips along her jawline and she let out a low whine somewhere from deep in her chest. “Hush, darling. I’ll stop if and when you say the word. Alright?”

Amelia nods and grasps his biceps because they’re her only support left. “Okay.”

“Good,” he quipped and tugged on your earlobe. “Now pull up your skirt. I’m not leaving without a taste of you.” It’s thrilling and dark and he looks like she wants to ruin the perfect Windsor she’d tied earlier. Leaning back against the wall of the private fitting room she easily lifts her skater skirt for him. The plain black material is bunched over her stomach and Martin reaches a hand between them. First, to touch her cheek, then to trail down her side and cup her with his palm. Amelia keens quietly against his palm, arching her hips to meet the much needed (and let’s be honest, much desired) touch. She sees his eyebrows rise in surprise and maybe wonder.

“Long time?” he whispers against her throat. He’s pressing kind kisses there as he simply touches her, brushing over that secret spot every few passes. Amelia nods. “How long?” It’s a rude question but she answers anyway.

“Since-since high school. There just wasn’t anyone I wanted this with.” He nods and there’s a new appreciation for her in his eyes. He hooks his hand into her tights and underwear, pushing them clumsily down her legs just to her knees. She knows this has to be quick.

“Oh, darling,” he whispers against her throat when his fingers slide through her folds and gently part her. She feels warm, tingly even. And she realizes just how wet she is when Martin slides a single digit in without preface. Her breath hitches and it’s all she can do not to cry out. The stretch is all but forgotten and she aches to relearn it. He pumps hard twice before removing his finger, and smirks wickedly when he sees her pout. He leaves a final kiss on her collarbone before trailing the hand cradling her head down over her breast to grasp her hip. Then he settles on his knees and looks up with dark pools in his eyes. Amelia looks up, breathing carefully, trying to be quiet. The room is private, and separated from most of the studio. He kisses right above her center, nuzzling the skin there. “Look at me, Amelia.” She glances downward where he’s still nuzzling her skin. Then his mouth is hot as he presses moist kisses to her clit, and it’s _wonderful_. So wonderful her head falls back and mouth falls open in awe.

Amelia can’t remember anytime when it felt as good as this. Maybe it’s the time lapse or the way Martin is holding her hips firmly to his lips that makes her keen softly. She has to bite her lip to keep back a particularly deep moan as she holds herself steady for the onslaught of his tongue. The sucking kisses on her clit and center are setting her nerves aflame. He helps by pushing a grounding hand onto her stomach, right above her pubic bone.

“Oh, just there, again, please…” she moaned quietly. He laughs into her as his tongue explores her entrance and the vibration makes her jump, push harder against his mouth. He’s lapping into her, sucking, brushing, careful in his exploration but relentless. He growls and she swears she peaks a little bit with a shuddering breath. It’s too much and she’s shaking. Suddenly the warmth is gone but his hands are still firmly planted on her. She looks down to see him press an open-mouthed kiss inside her thigh. She hisses sharply when his teeth sink into her. He gentles the soon to be bruise with his tongue and a chaste kiss then meets her gaze.

“I said look at me,” he reminded quietly before setting back to his task of making her come. Amelia obeys, watching him suck at her with hooded eyes. She’s tempted to close them when he starts pumping two fingers in and out of her but he’s watching her too. It’s what she needed and she can feel that peak, can feel the tension building in her abdomen. Just a little more… “Do you want to come?” Amelia nods, biting her lips, and is rewarded with a firmer touch from his tongue on her clit. Then he’s crooking his fingers inside her. His hand is still firmly planted on her stomach and she grabs its’ wrist desperately as her ragged breathing stops and she keens silently as she goes over her peak. It’s more of a deep inhale then some shaky exhales because she’s still lucid enough to know she’s in a fitting room. Martin is watching her with arousal blown eyes. He gentles her down from her orgasm then slides his fingers out of her.

Her breath hitches again when sucks the fingers into his mouth and tastes her second-hand. It’s all she can do not to pull his mouth back to her and mumble _again please_. Instead she watches lazily as he presses one last kiss to her sensitive skin. He meets her eyes as he helps her slide her panties and tights back into place then stands to smooth her skirt over her hips.

Amelia’s lost. She doesn’t know where to look. He’s studying her face. Martin leans in to kiss the corner of her mouth and she leans into the touch, kissing him back carefully. Their brush of lips is brief and chaste, which seems odd after their activities. She giggles and he raises her eyebrows at her. “It’s just…that’s the nicest tip I’ve ever gotten.” He laughs, all sparkling eyes and cuteness. Amelia chuckles in her throat, and that’s when she notices the bulge in his trousers. She carefully brushes her fingers over it and he hushes up immediately, enjoying her touch. Her confidence grows and she reaches out to cup him when his hand stops her.

“Not today, love.” Okay…but what if I want to? Still she nods and removes her hand, but she doesn’t miss the look of longing cross his face. _I need to leave before I pull him to the floor_. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek before gathering up her measuring tape and notepad and mumbling something about leaving him to dress.

She hides behind the reception desk in the shop front. Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. She’s adding notes to his clientele file for his suit. The suit, that’s why he’s here. The suit.

When he finally emerges he looks perfectly composed and Amelia wants to crumple down into a ball because a client just made her come (so hard with his mouth that she saw stars) in a fitting room.

And consummate professionals do not let clients make them come hard in fitting rooms.

“Amelia, thank you again. It was a pleasure.” He’s addressing her at the front desk. Her boss is standing behind him looking like the cat that got the canary. She smiles, a genuine smile. Not a I just orgasmed smile. She walks out from behind the desk, intending to shake his hand. Martin has other plans though and pulls her in by the waist to primly kiss her cheek. She can’t help beaming shyly at the affection. “I’ll probably be calling soon for another appointment. And I humbly request that I steal your beloved seamstress for it,” he says to her boss who laughs. Pamela is helping another client pick a tie across the store but Amelia sees her glance up anyway.

“You’ll have to ask, Amelia. Although I’m sure she can find the time.” She beams.

“Whenever you’re up to have your clothes pulled off, I’ll be here. “ Her boss laughs at her jape, but Martin sends a heated look at her through a seemingly kind smile.

She books his next appointment, and makes a note for another private fitting room.


	2. Waistcoats and Gray Suits, Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia fixes Martin with another suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back lovelies. So there is more plot, additional tags, more instances of me knowing nothing about editing suits, etc. I love you all and appreciate the support!!! I'm so sorry I don't update enough. I'm trying I promise....just sometimes I'm so tired I hear colors and Martin Freeman has a new appearances that leave me a mess. 
> 
> A big thanks to my editors, tumblr users @gracestopspeakingfrench and @imaginelifewithoutdreams. They are wonderful and I love them.

Amelia locked the door to her apartment before slumping back and down, down, down to the floor where she contemplated the events of the day.

 She could feel the bruise he’d left inside her thigh. It was throbbing.

 “What have I done?” she said aloud to no one. The small apartment was eerily quiet, which was usual. Pulling herself up, Amelia peeled her clothes away as she wandered to her bedroom, lost in thought and fantasy. She could still hear his gentle admonishment, and it was thrilling.

 She fell back onto her bed. It was raining outside and her window was streaked with raindrops, backlit by the apartment building across the street. It was probably too cold to be wearing only a bra and underwear to bed but right now she didn’t care.

 Amelia hadn’t felt this desirable in _years_ and she was going to enjoy the feeling why it lasted. She clumsily settled herself under her duvet and let her memory revisit Martin exploring between her legs as the rain lulled her to sleep.

Six weeks. She had six weeks before another fitting. She could survive on memory alone for six weeks, and by that time the intensity of his gaze and press of his hands would all be forgotten.

~~~~~~ 

Amelia had never been so wrong in all of her life.

Six weeks later and Martin comes sauntering into the salon, all smiles and polite small talk with Amelia’s boss who all but _runs_ when Pamela hasn’t gotten to him fast enough. 

“Amelia!” She jumps at her name, because to be honest she’s too caught up in the ash-blond hair and easy smile to pay attention to her surroundings. “Can you take Mr. Freeman back and start fitting his suit? It’s the gray one that just came in.” He’s grinning as Martin turns to her and mouths empathetically behind his back, _don’t screw up_.

“I saw that suit yesterday; it’s a beautiful design.” She says as she approaches Martin. She goes to shake his hand _again_ and instead he pulls her in and kisses her cheek _again_. His hand is warm on her back and she suppresses a shudder. When she pulls away, almost a second too late ( _good job, Amelia, be as awkward as possible_ ) he’s smiling softly but there’s something new in his face. Apprehension?

“Right this way, please.” Amelia ushers him deeper into the studio where she writes his name on the slate of a private fitting room door. “I’ll bring your suit in right away and then you can get changed.” She opens the door for him, and he hesitates, looks at her fondly. 

“You’re not going to help me?” He’s smirking with way to much confidence. But Amelia remembers the bulge she felt in his trousers six weeks ago and decides he has every right to have that much confidence.

“Only if you say please,” she whispers. His eyebrows raise and he closes himself in the room. Amelia stares at the door before taking a deep breath and smoothing her hands down the front of her dress.

Suit. Gray suit. No tie. White shirt. Matching trousers. Gray waistcoat. Right. He changes swiftly and lets her in to figure out where adjustments need to be made.

She’s straightening the lapels on his coat when she feels the first whisper of his fingers across her skin. It makes her jump.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and instead of teasing the inside of her elbow he lays the flat of his palms on her ribs right below her breasts. They’re warm and welcome and she can’t help but sigh at the touch. He’s fascinated, she can tell. “Why does a woman like you let me touch her body?” he whispers into the space between them. 

“Because she’s lonely,” she whispers back. The hand that moved to trace a line down her sternum stops. “And you were offering a friendly touch.” _And I still want to reciprocate it._

“Is that all? Just a friendly touch,” he asks as his eyes meet Amelia’s. She shakes her head ‘no,’ and moves on to smoothing the shoulders of his gray coat. Here it comes.

“I’m a professional seamstress who is dedicated to fashion,” she explains. She reaches up to button the collar of his shirt. It’s a tricky thing that’s shaped like butterfly wings. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss being touched. It’s just something I’ve learned to live without. This collar highlights your jaw nicely.”

“Hmm.” Amelia’s nerves are fluttering. She thinks that’s the end of the conversation. But he catches her chin in his hand and makes her face him. Martin’s blue eyes search hers. “Can I kiss you?” Amelia’s eyes go wide. It’s a long way from a glance to a kiss. “I mean, _really_ kiss you?” She bites inside her lip and nods. He licks his lower lip before pressing his forehead to hers. Their noses bump a little. She gently presses her lips to his mouth.

Martin cradles Amelia’s head with one hand and uses the other to settle low on her hip in order to press them together. It’s a deep, warm exploration that she had missed terribly. Their tongues don’t touch yet because a parody is shit unless you’re going to see the real thing afterwards. He’s an excellent kisser and it kind of feels like she’s learning the ropes again. It’s only when she feels his arousal that she breaks for air. Before he can protest, Amelia slips a hand between them and presses against the bulge she’s had dreams about. He groans a little, settling his head in the crook of her neck while she strokes him through his new trousers. They’re such a good fit: technically there shouldn’t be room for _all that_ — 

“Amelia,” he starts, but she stops him with a kiss. With both hands she undoes his trousers and glances down. She gently works her hand into his pants and grasps his length through his boxers. He gasps aloud, and moves his hands to her waist and grips. They’re pressed to close together. He breathes heavily as Amelia begins to stroke him. She wants to reciprocate, wants to say _thank you_ for the bruises he gave her.

“I’m going to, if you don’t stop now,” he breathes out. She kisses behind his ear and ignores him. She’s decided. Amelia’s feeling his skin today and that’s that.

“Can I..?” she whispers into his hair while squeezing a little. He nods against her shoulder and huffs, not understanding. “I want to taste you too,” she says in a rush and _that_ has him biting her throat. 

“Do it, please,” he whispers. Amelia extricates herself from his grasp and presses one last kiss to his plush mouth. She wants to move slow but her nerves are racing. It’s only thanks to his hands guiding her that she makes it smoothly to her knees in front of him.

Last time she was there she was measuring his inseam. This time she couldn’t care less how many centimeters his trousers needed to be let in. All that mattered was getting them off. Amelia gently tugs the trousers down his hips just enough. His fingertips ghost over her shoulders. Amelia looked up at him from her vantage point as she finally, carefully tugged his boxers off to reveal his very erect member.

Amelia swallowed. She leaned forward and feinted, kissing the crease where his hip met his thigh. She laved her tongue over the spot before she felt his hands settle around her ears. He gently pushed her off of his hip and guided her back to his cock. “I want you here, love,” he gently admonished, stroking a stray hair behind her ear. She licked her lips before finally placing a careful closed mouth kiss on the head of his cock. There was sweetness to this and she wanted to savor it. Just as he wanted.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. Martin’s fingers threaded into her hair as she slowly moved her mouth over his member, just wetting the tip. It was cruel and teasing; the torture would be worth it. “Please, Amelia, more please.” 

Using his thighs as leverage, Amelia pushed, encouraging his to thrust shallowly as she worked his cock in her mouth a little at a time. Finally, when she had taken as much as she could, Amelia began moving. She ran her tongue on the underside as she sucked gently. Martin swore and groaned. She glanced up at one point to see the line of his throat as he lifted his mouth skyward to moan his appreciation. His hands cupped her head lovingly. No grabbing, no pulling or groping. He simply stroked her hair.

Amelia finally looked up to meet his eyes while her lips were wrapped around his cock. With trembling fingers, he stroked one cheekbone. Then he began moving. Slow, but deeply while she sucked hard.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Her only warning before he came down her throat was his grip on her hair tightening. 

Amelia swallowed what she could before pulling off and leaning against his hip crease, just breathing. Martin’s hands stroked her head and hair. He whispered sweet nothings between breathy ‘thank you’s.’

“God, if I hired you I’d get _nothing_ done,” he laughed. Amelia smiled and glanced up at him before kissing his hip crease. Pushing herself to her feet, Amelia brought his trousers with her from where they had fallen around his knees. “S’all right, I’ve got it.” He closed his trousers then froze. What to do, what to do. Amelia could see the same apprehension welling in his throat that had her scurrying out of the room six weeks earlier.

“Umm, that was, well it _was_ —“ he stopped short. Was that guilt she saw? Without asking, Amelia pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He caressed her curves. He went as far to reach a hand between them to relieve some pressure from her center.

“Should I um, finish measuring?” she asked quietly. He had every right to leave right now if he wanted. He pushed in once; she shuddered, then moved away.

“Um, no it’s all right. Let’s finish up.” Martin nodded curtly.

She reaches up to fix the collar of his shirt again.

 ~~~~~~

Amelia’s phone buzzes next to her. It’s obscene in the late-night quiet. It’s work. 

Well that’s fucking fantastic. So wonderful she almost doesn’t pick up.

“Yes, fellow hard-ass?” Marcus the office manager is ambiguous about everything, his nationality, preferences, _everything_.

“Very funny. You deserve a promotion.” She can hear soft music in the background. Either Marcus is romancing himself into some expensive chocolates or he’s still at the store. Her bet’s on chocolate.

“That’s nice. What did I do to deserve a promotion?”

“You’re high profile client, Mr. Freeman, is apparently friends with Mr. Powell. He’s offered to fit him with a few more suits. Do you know who Freeman is?”

“Some posh, English actor-celebrity-something or other?”

Something crashes in the background. “Amelia, get your laptop and google him now. Mr. _posh-actor-something-or-other_ is none other than the high-rising Bilbo Baggins.” Amelia chokes. “He’s also booked appointments for suits for the next eight months at least. I hope you’re available.”

“With that schedule I might have to go on tour with him,” she breathes. Pinterest provides some lovely pictures of her client.

“Good, because he mentioned needing a stylist. Congratulations, darling. And all you had to do was impress him with your handy work with a needle.” Marcus sounds so smug, like he knows something she— _oh no_.

If there was ever a good time for aliens to beam humans aboard their craft for experimentation, now, Amelia thinks, would be a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and suggestions are much appreciated :)


	3. Is the Pink Really Necessary?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I bring you all the Freebeard. Enjoy.

Six weeks later, Amelia receives a memo about _the Shipment of Mr. Freeman’s next suit from our sister-store in London_. She smiles quietly to herself. She hasn’t figured out what these rendezvous may become. She tries not to hope but the memories are still strong. She reasons that no one is getting hurt; she doesn’t know anything about his private life and frankly doesn’t want to. She does wonder if he’s partial to oak brown hair... Over the time before their next appointment she had tried desperately not to fantasize about his hands, _his mouth, his cock—_

She can’t help but ponder as she sorts through the backroom for his suit. Marcus is there talking about his latest Netflix binge. She finds the stub with her client’s name and pulls it free of the hanger. She almost drops it immediately. Marcus looks up and blanches.

Amelia wants to face-palm. This has to be the most ridiculous suit she’s ever seen.

Pink.

The jacket is _fucking pink_.

“Are you sure this is…Martin’s suit?” Amelia fingers the sleeve. “It’s very stylish, but—“ she drops the sleeve”—it’s so _pink_.”

Marcus checks his ipad again. “I’ll check with Mr. Freeman and with Mr. Powell. But I checked the barcode when it came in and called the sister store. They both say it’s correct.”

“Just call Mark, don’t call the client. Barcodes don’t lie, and the sister store hasn’t gotten an order wrong yet.”

Amelia looks at Marcus who returns her look of horror.

“But _why_?”

“Ask your client,” Marcus returns quietly. He gives her a look of pity.

 

“Why pink?” Amelia asks Mr. Powell. She’s just arrived for work and Mark is fiddling with something at the front desk computer.

“Good morning to you too. What on earth are you talking about, Amelia?” he glances at her. He’s dressed impeccably as usual. His eyes twinkle a little.

“Mr. Freeman’s suit. I looked at it yesterday to do some measurements before his fitting. It’s pink. Like, _bright, neon_ pink. Why pink? Is it a stylistic choice? Did you suggest it?” It’s six o’clock in the morning. Amelia has had two cups of coffee already. She might be shaking a little bit.

“Why don’t you ask your client when he arrives for his fitting?” Mark asks calmly.

Amelia huffs and heads to the backroom. She doesn’t see Mr. Powell’s smug look.

 

He has a _beard_.

It looks soft, despite the apparent scruffiness. She's briefly reminded of a lumberjack. But the softness of his eyes brings his face back into focus and she realizes that if anything the beard adds a level of completeness.

“Mr. Freeman, it’s so nice to see you—oh, this is new,” she finishes less than enthusiastically. He’s just finished greeting Mark. Marcus is stealing glances from behind the desk. Amelia thinks he knows something, but she’s too nervous to ask.

“Hello, love,” he says and draws her in for a peck on the cheek. She stays as long as necessary, then pulls away to keep her hands to herself. “Yes, it’s for a play. Probably be twice as bushy by next month.” He scrubs a hand over it and laughs. Mark makes a comment about the pros and cons of facial growth and they laugh together. Amelia shifts off to Marcus’ desk where she won’t be intruding.

“Amelia, if you don’t mind, will you start Martin’s fitting?” Mr. Powell asks. Martin looks at her full on and her stomach turns with want.

“Of course,” she replies.

“You should give this lady a raise, Mark, she’s done a fantastic job keeping me in fashion so far.” Martin’s praises leave Amelia blushing. She turns back to the counter to grab a notepad and pen.

“You’re certainly keeping him happy,” Marcus says quietly. Amelia meets his eyes, panic rising in her throat. She wouldn’t say she’s anxious, but by God she is _anxious_.

“Just doing my job,” she answers.

“Pam should be jealous. She might start losing clients if you keep up the special treatment.” Amelia couldn’t have missed the innuendo if she tried. She swallowed back a gasp before retrieving her client and ushering him into a private room, Mark’s laughter following her all the way.

 

Amelia could feel her face redden by Marcus’s comment. How dare he assume anything is happening after she has _forgotten_ about numerous affairs for him. She wants to scream. Instead she takes a deep breath and imagines burning the pink jacket. She had never liked the color.

She hands it off to Martin who brushes her fingers with his. He had heard. He must have. She drops her gaze.

“Open the door when you’re ready for me to measure,” she says quietly. He nods. When it opens, she’s right outside. She does her job, then moves to adjust.

“What do you think?” He’s always quiet when they’re alone together, as if he’ll disturb the air to much and she’ll run away.

“Of the jacket?” she’s trying to persuade the button on the front to actually _go into_ the hole. Stubborn bastard. _Kind of like—_

“No, the beard,” he answers. He scrubs his hands over it again. Amelia thinks it must have become a nervous tick. She finally gets the button in and quickly steps aside so he can take a look. It fits, _well…_

“My personal or professional opinion?” she asks. He smirks at her in the mirror.

“Personal, always.”

She shrugs. “I’m not for or against them.” He turns around to stare at her.

“You are no help at all,” he admonishes. Amelia purses her lips. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not upset,” she says while she takes a note on the settee.

“So you’re not ‘for or against’ beards and you’re not upset.” He’s facing her, hands in black trouser pockets. “That’s a fucking lie.” She glances at him but continues to take notes.

“Well, what about the suit? You liked the first one and the gray. What do you think of this one?” He preens a little bit in the mirror.

Amelia taps her pad with the pencil and desperately tries to come up with a neutral response. “It’s very stylish. It follows a more classic interpretation of masculine coloring.” _I could not have made that more boring if I tried_ , she laments.

Martin turns to her. Annoyance is written all over his face. “Not crazy about it then?”

“It’s very-“ she waves her hand vaguely”-different, but it has flash to it.” she finishes lamely.

“So I’m not seducing anyone in it is what you’re saying,” he says testing out the buttons. “Not even you?”

_You, he’s talking about you_ , she thinks to herself and furiously works up a delicate response.

She nearly drops her pencil instead. “Mr. Freeman, I’m a professional—“ suddenly he’s dropped to his knees in front of her. His eyes are hard. She swallows.

“You keep saying that but I’m getting the impression that you’re just in need of a good lay,” his fingertips dance on her ankles. Amelia was suddenly grateful she had worn a dress. Their eyes meet.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart. We’ll see if you’re partial to beards after I’m through.” Amelia feels her stomach turn again. Slowly she lets her legs bracket his hips. He pushes her skirt up then roughly tugs her panties down. There’s a pause as she wrestles the underwear off and kicks off her shoes. She doesn’t see where they end up. She’s distracted by Martin sucking kisses into her collarbone. The beard is softer than she imagined it would be.

“You really don’t like this coat?” he asks between kisses. Amelia makes a noncommittal noise. She’s distracted by a thigh lying hard against her. He presses firmly down on her hips to divorce them. “One day I’m going to have you suck my cock while I’m wearing it.” Amelia groans quietly in her throat. She’d never say it out loud but she can’t wait. 

Finally he’s settled between her legs, one knee over each shoulder. Amelia bites her lip.

“Breathe, love,” he whispers against her thigh. Amelia lets out a deep breath, one she didn’t realize she was holding. “Good girl.” A kiss. The first touch of his beard against her sex is enough to make her hips jerk. He tsks and firmly holds down her hips and adds his tongue to  the equation. 

Amelia strokes her fingers through his hair once, carefully. She’s still not sure what she is allowed during these sessions. He meets her eyes then immediately sets himself back to his task. All it takes is a long soft stroke of his tongue to have her settling on her back.

He explores her with his lips, just delicately mouthing the skin. She keens every time he runs his tongue along her opening, the softness of his growth caressing her.

“That’s, that’s-”

“Shhh, just relax, darling. I’ll take care of you,” he amends. “Then, maybe. We can take care of me.” She bites her lip.

But it’s the first open-mouthed kiss to her clit that makes her bite her lip. His tongue is too warm. She can’t contain herself; it’s almost enough for her to come right there. But Martin gentles her down with whispered nothings against her thigh before pressing soft kisses against the little bundle of nerves then lower. His beard does feel lovely against her clit, the touch just delicate enough to set her on edge as he swirls his tongue in her opening. It’s exquisite. She imagines she can come just from this.

Then he slides two fingers in and she’s gone.

Amelia arches against the settee while biting the back of her hand. She desperately tries to control her breathing. When she finally opens her eyes, the smug look on his face tells all. He’s still settled between her legs. Leaning over her. She sits up on her elbows and hesitantly strokes his bearded cheek. He presses a quick kiss to her palm.

“Like it now?” he asks. Amelia blushes.

“I’m not opposed to it.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles. “Close enough to satisfaction then.”

Amelia bites her bottom lip and decided to go through with a fantasy she’s had since day one of meeting this man. She darts in for a languid, close-mouthed kiss then cups the back of his head and whispers:

“Again, please.”

He smiles smugly. “It’s early,” he says and reaches down to unbuckle his trousers. “Help me?” Amelia pulls him up to the settee and slips her hand into the trousers. It's a tight fit, but she manages to slide her hand around him. His grip around her waist never falters, not even after he's finishes.

Amelia decides she is rather fond of the pink jacket after all. 

 

“You know he’s seriously thinking about stealing you from me,” Mr. Powell says quietly. He and Amelia are going over some new prints. He makes the decisions, but Amelia gets her two cents in about what kind of suits she feels like tailoring.

“What do you mean?” she sips her tea.

“He needs a stylist, and apparently he’s impressed with your work.”

Amelia ducks her head down as a blush creeps into her face. Mark smiles at his favorite protege.

Little does he know how impressed Amelia is with Mr. Freeman’s work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up everyone, there are going to be three or so more chapters.   
> Comments and feedback are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. Thoughts? This is me trying my hand at smut, and I couldn't pass up the chance to write about Martin in his suits.


End file.
